


The Scent of Lemon Balm

by Muccamukk



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Caretaking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s01e05 Crossroads, Exhaustion, First Time, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-03 04:23:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14560791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muccamukk/pseuds/Muccamukk
Summary: By the time Dick gets to Battalion CP, he hasn't slept in over thirty-six hours, and his adrenaline has crashed hard.





	The Scent of Lemon Balm

By the time Dick gets to Battalion CP, he hasn't slept in over thirty six-hours, and his adrenaline has crashed hard. Some private made of mostly earnestness and ears tells him that Major Horton's billet is still occupied with Major Horton's kit, but Dick could bunk there if he liked.

"Where's Nixon?" Dick asks.

"I don't know where Captain Nixon is, sir," the kid says, "but the captain's billet is up those stairs and to the right, door at the end of the hall, if you wanted to wait."

That seems easier than any of the other options, so up those stairs and to the right Dick goes. They've taken over another old manor house, and Nix has a wide loft bedroom with a view of the front road and a bed in sort a of screened cupboard.

Will Nix mind if Dick stays and catches a few minutes of sleep? Maybe he can sleep on the floor. It won't be a lot less comfortable than the barn Easy has been quartered in the past two nights. Dick needs to find some place better for them to be. Never mind sleeping, Dick should wash his face and then go down again, find Strayer and talk about better company billets. He'll sleep later.

Dick props his rifle in a corner and starts unbuckling his musette bag and belts. He sets his sidearm on a side table and sits in a wide wicker chair, just for a minute, just to rest some place safe where he can shake without anyone seeing.

He ran a squad into two companies of SS. He ran across a field alone into two companies of SS. He's still alive. There's no way any of them should still be alive.

He's filthy and exhausted and needs to get up again and make sure that Easy's okay, that the wounded are settled and the survivors got back to their billets. He needs to write a letter to Dukeman's mother. He needs to...

"Dick?" That's Nix's voice in the hall.

Dick looks up. He hasn't been sleeping, he doesn't think; it's more that he's caught in numb silence while his mind tries to convince his body that it's time to move again.

"Dick?" Nix asks again, pushing through the door into his billet. He's carrying a pot in one hand and a bundle of something tucked under his arm. "Hey, that twelve-year-old private said you were up here."

Dick wants to ask if that's all right, but he's too tired, so he just nods. Nix won't mind. He's slept on Dick's floor enough times back in Aldbourne.

"I come bearing gifts," Nix continues, setting the pot down on the end table next to Dick's pistol, and unrolling the bundle. It's two towels and a piece of rough soap. Dick can feel the warmth whatever's in the pot from two feet away. "Hot water, towels, soap, you can use my razor. You'll be looking like a battalion XO in no time," Nix explains.

"Thanks," Dick says, but he doesn't move. In a second, he'll get up and wash his face, but he can't seem to get there just yet. He doesn't think he's been this tired since Sink made Second Battalion march from Toccoa to Atlanta in seventy-two hours, just to show up the Japanese, who of course didn't care. Dick's not sure he cares now, either, about anything. The shock of being promoted away from his men still hasn't quite sunk in.

Nix drops into a crouch before him and peers up into his face. Concern and amused affection are written on his features, and if Dick looks at him for a second longer, he's going to slip up and say something he shouldn't this time. Dick closes his eyes. "Or you could have a nap," Nix says. "Sleep on my bed if you want."

That's something Dick's wanted to hear Nix say for a long time, but in context of Nix also being in the bed, and Dick really does need to crash before he actually says something stupid. "Thanks," he says again, but he still can't seem to move.

"Mmm," Nix hums. Dick hears the lid of the pot rattle, and the slide of cloth as Nix moves, then the air's full of the sweet smell of lemon balm, and Nix is touching him. "Let's just get you started," he says. He's holding Dick's chin steady with one hand, while he wipes at the dirt ingrained into Dick's cheek with a warm, damp cloth.

If there's anything on Earth closer to Heaven, Dick doesn't know what it is. He moans slightly, eyes drifting open a crack to watch Nix's face, but the next swipe over his eyebrows, and he close them again. It's easier this way, anyway. He doesn't really want look up and see worry, or fraternal concern. He wants for this one, small moment to pretend.

Nix moves in wide, sure strokes, covering Dick's face with a fine film of soapy water and then rinsing the cloth and repeating the same path as before. He strokes along the line of Dick's cheekbones, and down the hollow of his cheeks, and along his jaw below his ear, and sides of his nose, and back to his forehead. It's like he's painting warmth and life into Dick's body, and Dick doesn't ever want him to stop. He would press his face into the touch, like a cat rubbing against its owner, except Nix is still holding his face steady.

Nix doesn't stop. He applies more soap the the cloth, refreshing the room with its smell, and rubs the cloth up behind Dick's ears and down the side of his neck. A trickle of water runs down into Dick's collar as Nick tips his chin back and continues to wash his throat. It's the most intimate thing Dick has ever experienced, more so than letting a girl run her hands down his chest, more so than the cool professional hands of a barber, which was what this should remind him of, but doesn't. It it's a lot more like the dreams that Dick sometimes has, where he wakes up rock hard and ashamed.

Dick should feel ashamed now, for enjoying Nix's touch in a way that it isn't meant, a way that will almost certainly disgust him if he ever discovers it. Instead, Dick tips his head to the side and lets Nix wash the other side of his neck.

Nix starts to rinse his neck, and Dick's skin feels fresh and new, the still air of the loft cooling it as the water dries. It's like Nix is wiping away all the fear and worry from the last twenty-four hours and making Dick a new man.

There's a moment, as the cloth passes across the back of Dick's neck for the last time, when it could end, should end, and Dick starts to gather himself. He'll open his eyes soon, and work out what he needs to do. These heavenly moments of comfort will end, and he'll have to put his armour on again, and go back out into the war.

Then he feels Nix's hands on the buttons of his shirt, and the intensity of whatever it is they're doing catches him up again. Dick somehow knows that whatever Nix does, as long as he keeps his eyes closed, it's not really happening, and neither of them will have to face up to it. He can feel Nix's breath warm on the cooling skin of his throat as he leans in to work Dick's shirt open.

Nix slides shirt and suspenders off as one, leaving Dick in the thin cotton undershirt of his summer uniform. He takes the cloth up again and wipes in long strokes from Dick's shoulder to his wrist. He has the wrist in his other hand, and use it to turn Dick's arm this way and that as he washes away days of perspiration and grim. Nix opens Dick's hand flat, palm up on his knee, and runs the cloth all the way down the inside of his arm and across his hand to the tips of his fingers. The soft, soapy cloth is like the brush of fur against Dick's sensitive skin, and he shivers. Nix repeats the movement, and it's like he's kissed down Dick's wrist and rested his lips on his palm, like a chevalier in an old movie. It's been so long since he's been touched at all, and Dick doesn't know if he's ever been touched like this.

Despite his fatigue, Dick realises that he's growing hard, and there's nothing he can do to stop it. His legs are spread with Nix crouching between his knees, and he has only moments before Nix realises that his friendly touches have given his buddy a hard on.

Dick's eyes snap open, and he tries to jerk his arm out Nix's grip. He thought he spent every drop of energy running into those German positions, but he finds some now. He stands sharply, which only makes things worse, because now his cock is right in Nix's face, clearly tenting his pants, so he starts to twist sideways to escape, but Nix won't let go of his wrist.

Nix grabs Dick's hip and pushes him back down into the chair. Nix's face is flushed with embarrassment, and he won't meet Dick's eyes, but he's clearly nerving up to something. Nix's still holding on, and whatever happens next, Dick's going to have to sit here and take it.

Dick needs to say something. He needs to think of a lie, and he has to do it now, or Nix is going to figure out that all Dick wants is for his best friend to strip him down and touch him. They might be able to patch things up after that kind of revelation, if Nix is incredibly generous, but Dick knows that they'll never have the same easy friendship again. Nix will always be wondering if this is the moment that an act of friendship will again be misinterpreted, that Dick will make an unwanted advance, and then Dick will be left to face the war all alone.

He needs to come up with a lie, say something about how he's so tired he doesn't know where he is; he drifted off; he lost his mind. Then Nix can laugh it off and make a joke about how he's not exactly Jane Wyman, sorry to disappoint, and they'll be back to the way they've always been, which is enough for Dick, it has to be. Every word he's ever learned sticks together in his throat, and he remains mute.

The terror of the moment should have killed any arousal Dick could possibly feel, but he's still hard. Nix is between Dick in the door, so Dick glances at the window, considering the possibilities of escape via that route, but it's a straight drop to the courtyard far below.

Nix's hands are warm on his wrist and bunched in his pants at the hip. He's watching Dick like he watches enemy troop movements, like Dick's a puzzle to be solved.

Then Nix picks up the cloth, dips it in the water, squeezes it, and wipes it down the outside of Dick's other arm. He's still watching Dick's face, and Dick doesn't know what to do, or what this means. He's frozen in place by the intensity of whatever this is between them.

"Lew, I..." he starts to say, but Nix shushes him, takes his other wrist, runs to cloth down the inside of that arm too. The water has started to cool, but the cloth is still warm and soft, and when it touches the inside of his wrist, Dick feels like it's stroking his thigh, or his cock. "Lew," he says again, but there's no protest in it this time, just surrender.

"Take your shirt off," Nix says, and Dick nods. He leans forward just enough to grab the back of his undershirt and pull it off over his head. He's half naked in front of Nix—who's seen him in the shower hundreds of times, who Dick's wanted to see him like this thousands of times—and Dick doesn't know what to do. He does nothing. He watches Nix rub the soap into the cloth and follow the contours of Dick's chest in the same way he outlined his face. Nix strokes along his collar bone, and across his pectorals, and down his sternum, and along the bottom of his ribs, and across his belly. He's stroking with the hair on Dick's chest, smoothing it, but the cotton of the cloth tugs at the small hairs, and each brush of fabric feels like a kiss.

Nix rinses the cloth. The water's getting dirty, but it doesn't matter. Dick shiverers as it rubs over his nipple, and he has to shift a little in the chair because he's so hard it hurts. If Nix doesn't stop soon, Dick's going to come in his ODs, sitting right there, without either of them touching him below the belt. Nix has to know what this is doing to him, there's no way he can't, and he's smiling.

He touches Dick's waist with his free hand, just above his hip bones, at the edge of his pants. Dick knows it's a question, so he says, "Yes." It's the only answer he has in him.

Nix drops the cloth back in the pot and unbuckles Dick's belt, then works the buttons on his fly. His knuckles brush Dick's cock through the fabric of his ODs, and Dick has to clench his hands on the chair arms and bite his lip to keep from crying out. He lifts his hips so that Nix can pull his pants and underwear down his thighs, exposing him. Nix's mouth is so close to the tip of his cock that Dick thinks he's going to fulfil every fantasy Dick's ever had and lean down those last few inches.

He doesn't. Nix's eyes are crinkled with his smile, and he picks up the cloth again. He runs it along the crease between Dick's stomach and his thighs, brushing over his hips, then down the outside of his thighs as far as there's bare skin. Dick moans and curls his fingers around the chair arms. He has to close his eyes because watching Nix touch him is too much. He has to breath hard to keep from coming right there, and Nix is just stroking his inner thighs now, carefully not touching his cock.

"Nix, please," Dick says, despite himself. Nix touch vanishes, and he opens his eyes, irrationally worried that speaking has broken the moment, but Nix is just rinsing the cloth again. His eyes never leave Dick's as he carefully folds it in half, and uses both hands to wrap it around the length of Dick's cock.

The water's just a little warmer than body temperature, and the smooth, slick feeling of the cloth against his skin is more than Dick can bear. He cries out, a soft, high sound that's full of need. He's not sure if he's breathing; he can't feel anything at all except Nix's hand around him. Nix squeezes lightly, and it sends a ripple of sensation though his whole body. Dick whimpers. Nix squeezes again, pulling up this time, drawing the cloth slowly along the length of Dick's cock, every fraction of an inch multiplying sensation on sensation until Dick's vision flashes white, and he has to come.

Nix holds the cloth wrapped around him until he's finished, and then wipes him clean. He's still watching Dick's face like he's trying to memorise it.

Dick closes his eyes again and slumps against the back of the chair, his head hitting the wicker as he tips his face up towards the ceiling. In a moment he's going to have to get up, and on top of all the other things he had to do before, he needs to either figure out what just happened between him and Nix, or figure out how not to think about it ever again.

Nix is still crouching between Dick's knees, and he doesn't look like he knows what to do now either. Dick looks down at him, their gazes locking, and Nix's eyes widen and his lips part in a shocked, "oh," like he's just realised what he's done.

For the first time since this started, Dick reaches out to touch him. His fingertips brush Nix's temple before he slides his hand into Nix's thick hair, like he's always wanted to and never dared. "Nix," he says, and has to clear his throat, because his voice is rough and the words catch. "It's all right."

"I don't," Nix says, but he doesn't say what he's trying to deny. Dick's still more than half naked in front of him, and they can't take back what they did. Dick can feel the pulse point in Nix's temple, beating hard and fast under the heel of his hand. "You looked so done in," Nix says at last. "I just wanted to take care of you. No one ever..."

Nix has to know that's not a reasonable explanation, but Dick nods, and says, "Thank you." They're still caught in that unreal moment between one battle and the next, and Dick doesn't have long to say what he needs to before they snap back into the danger and the dirt and the constant worry. "I've, uh... I've wanted you to do that for a long time. Since Toccoa. I've wanted other things, too."

"Yeah?" Nix asks. He's smiling again, and it starts to shake Dick back into the real world. Smiling, teasing Nix is the one he knows, the real Nix.

It comes to Dick that the Nix he knows is still the one with his hand on Dick's knee, not seeming to care that Dick is petting his hair, or that Dick's soft cock is still inches form his face. The Nix Dick now knows might also be the one that he can have.

"Oh, yeah," Dick says with feeling. He stands, pulling up his pants and fumbling with his belt. Nix leans forward and rubs his face against Dick's fly, and Dick stokes his hair again. "What about you?" Dick asks.

"I'm fine until later," Nix answers, and Dick takes him at his word. He's not hard, that Dick can see, and they do need to go. There's a war raging outside this tranquil sweet-scented loft, and Dick has a whole new set of responsibilities waiting for him.

"Later, then," Dick agrees. "We can do whatever you like."

He pulls Nix to his feet. They stand chest to chest, hands still joined, and with giddy confidence Dick leans in and seals his promise with a kiss.


End file.
